My parents recently divorced and my mom moved out as a consequence. Both of my parents were pretty down about it and relatively hostile towards each other, which put a lot of strain on me and my siblings.
One day my mom was visiting us children, eating a small snack with us at the table, while my dad was sitting on the sofa a few metres away. I went to the calendar hung on the wall to check for an appointment and realised that my dad had reassigned the row showing my mom’s appointments to instead show when each kind of trash was emptied by the city; however, the top row with her name was written in non-erasable pen.
That seemed like such a typical thing that a divorced couple would do out of spite that I broke down laughing hard, because my dad absolutely didn’t intend it to be malicious; he put it there simply because my mom used to take care of the trash and there was space. Of course my mom came to look at what was so funny and broke down laughing, too.
When my dad walked over, too, she joked about how insulted she was about being used as a trash reminder and he joked back that she deserved it. Consequently, my whole family spent a quarter hour laughing and wheezing on the floor. I think that moment saved our relationship as a family; that day was the first time they had talked with each other in person, not over text or asking us to relay messages. In the following days and weeks they started handling each other with a lot less tension and apologized for putting us between them. I’m very glad for that silly little coincidence.
(A woman comes into the store with her very curious young daughter, maybe two or three years old. She’s asking what different things are.)
Daughter: “Wah dii?”
Mother: “[Candy #1].”
Daughter: “Wah dah?”
Mother: “[Candy #2]”
Daughter: “Wah dah?”
Mother: “[Candy #3]”
Daughter: “Oh! [Candy #3]! Well! I do not like [Candy #3]!” *pause* “Wah dii?”
(She must have been imitating someone, but to hear a toddler abruptly start enunciating clearly and then go back to baby talk was quite amusing.)
(I get in the elevator with a man and his young son. The son has been playing with a basketball in the hallway. As we’re riding down:)
Son: “Can I dribble in here?”
Dad: “No.”
Son: “Okay. No dribbling in the alligator.”
Dad: “Elevator.”
Son: “Right. No dribbling in the elebator.”
Dad: “Close enough.”
(I couldn’t help but chuckle.)
(My mother is helping me sort my son’s clothing to donate anything he has outgrown. I have really small feet, so I have to shop in the kid’s section for footwear.)
Mom: *holds up a small pair of Boba Fett socks* “I think [Son] has outgrown these; shouldn’t we donate them?”
Me: “Those socks are too small for him, but they are mine, so it doesn’t matter that he can’t wear them.”
Mom: “You are a grown woman, and you have Star Wars socks?”
Me: “Does being an adult mean I shouldn’t have Boba Fett socks?”
Mom: “Yeah.”
Me: “I feel a sudden need to do away with such silliness.”
Mom: “The socks?”
Me: *grabs socks* “No, adulthood.”
(I’m at a family holiday gathering, playing cards in a circle with my sisters and some cousins. One of my cousins has a young toddler who is sitting with us and watching, until she suddenly looks to her mom across the room, and bellows with amazing articulation:)
Toddler: “Mommy, I’m pooping!” *points her finger* “And I want you to change it!”
(The group of us collapsed into hysterics, and my cousin admitted that if her daughter was old enough to demand her personally for diaper duty, it might be time for potty training.)
